


oh the weather outside is frightful

by blamefincham



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12810807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamefincham/pseuds/blamefincham
Summary: Nick returns to his chair, packs up his things, heads over to the cafe door, and puts his hand on the knob—And it turns, but when he pushes on it, it goes nowhere.Nick pushes a little harder. It moves an inch or so—enough for him to see that the snow has drifted outside. It’s at least two feet high.Potentially he should have stayed home.





	oh the weather outside is frightful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yeswayappianway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeswayappianway/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this!! I know you suggested rival bakeries with gentle competition and this is...like at least fifty percent that? :)
> 
> Thank yous to be edited in after reveals!

Nick seriously considers staying in his apartment.

The clouds look dark and heavy, and it’s cold and slushy outside, and he’s really comfy here on his couch. But he’s also seriously tempted to nap, and he doesn’t have _time_ for that. He promised his editor he’d have his first draft done by Monday, and it’s Sunday. He’s pretty sure no amount of Christmas spirit will keep her from making good on her threats of a slow and painful death if he misses his deadline.

So he drags himself off the couch, into real clothes, and to his favorite place to work.

It’s a Russian bakery/cafe, which is not a cuisine Nick would have sought out if he hadn’t stumbled upon it one day. It’s small and cozy and a lot of the cafe’s patrons are Russian, which means Nick can’t get distracted by listening in on the background chatter. He also doesn’t know the wifi password, which is a major help as far as distractions go.

It might _also_ be true that Sergei, the guy who owns the place and works behind the counter most of the time, is cute. But Nick really does get work done here—a little conversation with Sergei is how he rewards himself. Well, that and the pies, which are as delicious as they are ornate.

“ _Privet,_ ” Nick says cheerfully as he approaches the counter. The simple greeting is about a third of all the Russian he knows, even though he’s been coming to this cafe for the better part of a year.

“Привет,” Sergei replies, beaming at him. “You crazy coming out today, Nick.”

Nick had noticed the sky, but now that he’s here, he can see that the cafe has way less than its usual number of patrons. That’s a good sign that everyone’s expecting the weather to take a turn for the worse—not that it matters now, though, because Nick is already out in it. “I grew up in Sudbury; I’m not afraid of a little snow,” he says flippantly. 

“I’m from Siberia and I still think you crazy,” Sergei says. “But you pay my rent, so. What you want today?” 

Nick drums his fingers along the top of the case as he considers the pies. “Blackcurrant? And a cocoa, please.” 

“Coming right up,” Sergei says, still smiling that bright smile that Nick likes a little too much.

Nick grabs his usual chair, which he deemed perfect after weeks of trying just about every seat in the place: not right by the window so he doesn’t get cold, his back to the counter so he doesn’t get distracted, and a view of the room to gaze off into when he’s thinking. Also: outlets.

By the time he has his laptop out and plugged in, Sergei’s bringing him his cocoa and pie. Today the pie’s decorated with delicate pastry leaves and tiny pastry flowers. Nick would Instagram it, but he’s done that enough times that he’s pretty sure his seven followers are sick of the repetition. 

“ _Spasibo_ ,” Nick says, his second bit of Russian. 

“Пожалуйста,” Sergei says. Nick’s heard him say the standard reply a hundred times, he knows it means ‘you’re welcome,’ but it’s just too complex for him to imitate.

At least, unless he asked Sergei to sit down and sound it out for him; he’s sure Sergei would, given how quiet it is today, but—deadline. Nick smiles at him, and Sergei gives him a quick nod, then heads back to the counter. 

Fortunately, Past Nick did Present Nick a solid. Instead of leaving off at an awkward transition, he’d stopped writing in the middle of a conversation, and it’s easy for him to get back into the flow. Easy enough, in fact, that he consumes his cocoa and pie in a sort of fugue state, knocks out a thousand words, and only takes a break when Sergei’s shoes appear in his peripheral. 

“You want another cocoa, or are you gonna be smart and leave before storm gets worse?” Sergei asks. Nick blinks at him and takes in the passage of time. It’s a little darker outside, it’s started to snow, and there’s literally no one else in the cafe. Probably it _would_ be wise to pack up and leave, but…Nick’s on a roll, and he’s only got like two scenes to go. 

“I’ve never been a smart guy, Sergei,” Nick says, grinning, and raises his empty cup. Sergei laughs at him and collects the empty dishes.

Nick actually doesn’t notice when Sergei comes back with the fresh cup, though he does drink it as he continues. He notices the lights coming on in the cafe, sort of, but he just keeps typing; his editor would be so proud. _Will_ be proud, when he turns in his draft with hours to spare. It’s not even close to midnight when Nick types his last sentence and hits save. 

It is, however, close to closing time. The cafe’s still deserted except for him and Sergei, who has long since cleared away the leftover pastries and is reading a book at the register.

“I hope I didn’t keep you here late,” Nick says, standing up and stretching. 

Sergei shrugs. “Is okay, I just live upstairs, so.”

Nick blinks at him. Yeah, he and Sergei mostly make small talk, but he’s still surprised he never picked up on that. 

He carries his own mug to the counter and hands it over. “Well, thank you anyway, I appreciate it. I got a lot done,” Nick says, shoving a tip of roughly 100% into the tip jar.

Sergei opens his mouth to protest and Nick holds up a hand to cut him off. Sergei rolls his eyes and makes a tutting sound of disapproval. “Stubborn,” he scolds.

“Yep,” Nick agrees. He returns to his chair, packs up his things, heads over to the cafe door, and puts his hand on the knob—

And it turns, but when he pushes on it, it goes nowhere. 

Nick pushes a little harder. It moves an inch or so—enough for him to see that the snow has drifted outside. It’s at least two feet high. 

Potentially he should have stayed home. 

“I told you so,” Sergei says, smug. Nick can just see the street amid the blowing snow, and his car is totally covered. The streets barely appear to have been plowed. Even if he could get out the door, the odds aren’t good that he’ll be able to dig his car out, and he definitely lives too far to walk.

“Well shit,” Nick says, closing the door to stop letting the heat out. “I think I’m stuck.”

“Mmhmm,” Sergei agrees. He seems very serene about it, which is probably because, unlike Nick, he saw this coming. 

Nick really should have looked at the actual forecast and not just the clouds. He looks back at the cafe. His favorite chair is comfortable—not really enough to sleep in, but he doesn’t seem to have a lot of other options. 

“Uh…do you mind if I…” Nick says, gesturing awkwardly to the chair. 

“You done writing?” Sergei asks, closing his book.

“Yes?” Nick replies, cocking his head.

“Okay. Come on,” Sergei says, and gestures for Nick to follow him as he turns around and heads into the kitchen.

Nick—is missing something here. “Wait, what?” he calls after Sergei, rooted to the spot.

Sergei pokes his head back out into the cafe. “You done writing, so we go upstairs, I make dinner,” he says patiently. “You think I make you sleep in chair when I have couch bed right upstairs?” 

_Couch bed_. ‘Pullout’ or ‘futon’, Nick’s brain helpfully supplies. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make the meaning that much clearer. “You’re gonna let me crash on your couch even after I was dumb enough to get stuck here?” 

“I tell you, you pay my rent,” Sergei says, and he disappears into the kitchen again. This time, Nick follows him.

—

“What if I’m—like, a thief, or an axe murderer, or something?” Nick asks as he follows Sergei up the narrow wooden staircase at the back of the kitchen.

“You rob me, kill me, you can’t come back, then you never get writing done,” Sergei says. His back is to Nick, but he sounds amused. 

“Touché,” Nick says. 

Sergei unlocks the door to his apartment and Nick follows him in. If Nick didn’t already know Sergei owned the cafe, he’d be able to guess, because the apartment is furnished in the same style: neat but cozy. It’s warm and inviting, and something smells savoury and delicious, like the dinner Sergei alluded to downstairs has been simmering all day. 

Arguably, this is a better evening than if Nick had stayed at his own place. He might have an actual bed there, but he definitely doesn’t have any food in his fridge.

Nick toes off his shoes, sets his bag down, and follows Sergei into the kitchen, where he’s checking on dinner. It looks like some kind of rich brown stew, bubbling away in a slow cooker.

“Whatever that is, it smells incredible,” Nick says, stepping around the little table to get a better view.

“Thank you,” Sergei says. He puts the lid back on, pulls a knife from the knife block, and passes it to Nick. “Cut up bread?” he asks, indicating the towel-covered loaf on a cutting board to the side of the slow cooker.

“Oh, sure,” Nick says easily. The bread is simpler than the ornate stuff Sergei makes to sell at the cafe, but it looks just as tasty. 

While he cuts a few slices for them, Sergei is getting out bowls and setting the table. It’s quiet, but the kind of easy quiet Nick so appreciates from the cafe. They barely know each other, but it still isn’t awkward. 

It would have been polite to show his appreciation for the meal regardless of how it tasted, but when Nick takes his first spoonful, his groan of delight is completely instinctive. “This is unbelievable,” he tells Sergei. Sergei blushes a little, which is adorable.

“Is it a Russian recipe?” Nick asks after his next bite.

“No, Ina Garten,” Sergei says, and Nick cracks up, laughing mostly at his own dumb assumption.

“Big Food Network fan, eh?” Nick asks a grinning Sergei.

“Good for practice English,” Sergei replies, which makes perfect sense.

“When did you start to learn?” Nick asks, curious. They’ve had a lot of conversations over the past few months, but most of them are brief because of the line of customers behind Nick. They certainly haven’t delved into anything resembling origin stories. 

“Fourteen,” Sergei says. “My papa got a job here, so we all come.”

“Right at the start of high school?” Nick says, frowning. “That can’t have been easy.”

“I play hockey,” Sergei says simply. “Nobody care how I talk as long as I make saves.”

“You were a goalie?” Nick says, delighted. “It’s amazing you’re not weirder, then.”

Sergei’s the one who bursts out laughing this time. “You play too?” he asks, both hands around his bowl of stew.

“When I was in school, yeah. Got me a scholarship,” Nick says, shrugging. He misses it sometimes, but he’s living his dream as a writer and he graduated debt-free from an American university, so he really can’t complain. 

“To study writing books for kids? Did other guys chirp you lots for that?” Sergei says with a smirk. 

“I mean, my degree wasn’t that specific,” Nick says, rolling his eyes.

“That not a no,” Sergei points out, and well. He’s right. Nick tips his glass of water at him in a wordless concession.

They finish up their dinner not long after that—Nick’s lucky he doesn’t have the hiccups after how fast he ate, but it was _delicious_. He insists on doing the dishes as Sergei puts away the leftovers, and that pleasant, domestic feeling settles over him again.

“I think it’s bed time for me,” Sergei says as he stashes the final tupperware and closes the fridge. “But if you not tired, I have Netflix, or wifi is same as cafe.”

“Don’t you dare tell me the wifi password,” Nick says, raising his hands to cover his ears. Sergei snickers, familiar with Nick’s superstition about it at this point. “But Netflix, sure, if you don’t mind. I’ll keep the volume down.”

He follows Sergei into the living room. Sergei turns the TV on and launches Netflix, then hands over the remote. Nick is thoroughly unsurprised to see that his first recommended category is ‘food and travel movies.’

Nick is scrolling through options when Sergei steps back into the room carrying some sheets and a pillow for the pullout. “You ever seen _Julie and Julia_?”

Sergei shakes his head, and Nick’s jaw drops. 

“What! It’s a mid-2000s classic! And as a real cook, too—that’s just _embarrassing_ , Sergei.”

Sergei narrows his eyes at Nick, and says, “You trying to talk me into staying up, watching with you.”

“Maybe,” Nick admits, shameless. “Is it working?”

Sergei tips his head back and laughs, and Nick can’t help but notice what an attractive picture that is. He pushes the thought out of his mind, just like he’s been doing for months, because the last thing he wants to do is ruin the vibe at his favorite cafe by making things awkward with the owner.

“I should sleep,” Sergei says, but his tone of voice says _'talk me out of it.’_

“Come on,” Nick cajoles obligingly. “Nobody’s gonna come in tomorrow with the roads like they are. Call it a snow day and we’ll stay up late like kids.”

Sergei bites his lip, thoughtful, and then says, “You bad influence…but okay, okay, you win.”

He leaves the sheets and pillow on the back of the couch and joins Nick. He might be sitting closer than is strictly necessary, or it might just be a small couch and Nick is projecting, it’s hard to say. 

Either way, he gets into it right away, smiling as Julie talks about why she loves to cook and considers it an escape from her daily life. For his part, Nick groans along with her husband as he samples her chocolate cream pie on-screen.

“That looks _amazing,_ ” Nick says, envious.

“You like?” Sergei asks, glancing up at Nick. 

Nick nods. “Yeah, I’m a sucker for chocolate, and my mom used to make pies like that when I was a kid.” 

“Okay,” Sergei says, turning back to the movie. “I make for you sometime.” 

He says it so confidently, like of _course_ they’ll hang out again and Sergei will bake for Nick even though he bakes all day as his actual job. For a moment, Nick wonders if it’s not that Sergei is a generous guy who would offer his pullout to any of his regulars—maybe it’s only because it’s him. 

But that’s…ridiculous. Nick has seen Sergei turn his big, bright smile on hundreds of people, from grandmas to little kids. It’s just the kind of guy he is. Nick’s seeing what he wants to see.

It’s only a couple minutes later when Nick feels a weight on his shoulder. He feels a little burst of butterflies in his stomach, but when he glances over, he sees that Sergei’s eyes are closed; he must not have been joking about being tired. Nick would wake him up, but as long as he doesn’t, he gets to live in his dream world where Sergei rests on his shoulder on purpose and not just because it’s the nearest thing of the appropriate height and softness. 

Sergei’s still asleep when the movie ends, probably because Nick has very carefully not moved an inch. But when the credits start to roll, he knows he can’t put it off any longer, much as he wouldn’t mind sharing the couch with Sergei all night. 

Nick moves his shoulder a little to give Sergei a gentle nudge. Sergei mumbles and curls closer towards Nick, which—Nick _really_ wants to leave him there now. He does, for a minute, and then does the right thing and nudges him again.

Sergei’s eyes flutter open. He’s still for a moment, and then he abruptly sits up. “Oh no, I—sorry, Nicky,” he says, voice a little rough from sleep. 

Nick barely notices, though, because—”Nicky?”

Sergei flushes, which is still painfully adorable. “Sorry,” he says again, which is both unnecessary and not an answer. “I—I get you some blankets,” he says, standing up.

“You already did,” Nick says, gesturing to the stack on the back of the couch.

“I already did,” Sergei echoes, flushing even darker. “Okay, then. Um. Goodnight.” He turns around and all but runs to his bedroom.

It takes Nick a minute to process that little exchange, but…it doesn’t seem quite so far-fetched anymore that Sergei might be harboring some of the same feelings as Nick. 

In fact, in hindsight, it’s possible that Sergei has been flirting with him for a while. When he lets himself really think about it…maybe Sergei wouldn’t save just anyone the last slice of their favorite pie. Maybe he wouldn’t remember the details of just anyone’s current project and inquire about the characters like they’re old friends. Maybe he wouldn’t invite just anyone to sleep on his couch, even if the alternative was sleeping in his cafe.

Or…maybe he would. Nick—doesn’t know for sure. But it’s enough to make him hope.

—

In the morning Nick feels a little less confident, probably because Sergei isn’t blushing and tripping over his words. Instead, he’s cheerful and busy, an obvious morning person. Nick typically finds that annoying, but in Sergei it’s charming, just like everything else about him. 

Breakfast is simpler than dinner, just eggs and bacon and toast, but Sergei fends off all of Nick’s attempts to help, which means Nick gets to watch him. He does catch Sergei glancing at him a couple of times—it wouldn’t be anything, except for how Sergei immediately looks away like he’s been caught.

But the real sign comes after breakfast. Sergei has a little window in his kitchen, and the view’s not much, but it’s enough to offer a glimpse of the street below. “Looks like the plows came,” Nick says when he stands to offer his plate. He’s watching Sergei carefully as he adds, “I probably should go so I can send my draft off to my editor.”

There it is: the briefest flash of disappointment on Sergei’s face. It’s enough. 

Nick gathers himself for the romantic equivalent of jumping off a cliff. “Or I could…not go. I mean, I’d rather stay. You know, if—if you want me to.”

Sergei looks a little confused. That’s fair; Nick would be too after that awkward delivery, and English is his first language. 

So he goes more straightforward. “I like you,” he says. “I’ve been flirting with you for a while, and I—I might be reading this wrong, but I think—I thought?—you were flirting back. Were you?” 

It takes just a second before Sergei smiles at him, soft. “Oh,” he says. “Yes.” 

“Good,” Nick says, “Because I would really hate it if I’d been wrong and then needed to find a new cafe out of sheer embarrassment.”

Sergei laughs at him, and Nick steps closer, because he’s always wanted to see what that laugh looks like closer up. The answer, he discovers, is ‘even better.’

Nick finds himself reaching for Sergei, which is fine because Sergei’s reaching for him too. It’s not clear which of them initiates the kiss, but it’s—gentle, despite how long they’ve been building up to this. Nick feels like he could kiss Sergei forever.

Unfortunately, as clever as his ploy was, Nick really _does_ have to go send off his manuscript. Sergei’s face when he breaks the kiss to tell him this is almost enough to make Nick break down and accept the password, but it’s already going to be hard enough to be productive now that he can actually kiss Sergei instead of just dreaming about it. 

“I’ll come back, though,” Nick promises, stealing one more kiss. Sergei still looks put out, but maybe a little mollified. 

Once he’s grabbed his bag, he pokes his head back in the kitchen to say goodbye. Sergei is smiling off into the distance at nothing, which really does a lot for Nick’s self-confidence. “ _Do svidaniya,_ ” he says, the third and last Russian phrase he knows. 

Sergei startles, swears under his breath in Russian, and then something about his smile goes just a little darker. “I ever tell you I love when you speak Russian?” he asks Nick. 

Nick clutches at the doorframe involuntarily. “Quit making it harder for me to go,” he complains.

“You torture me every day in my cafe,” Sergei says. “Fair is fair.” 

“I will be _right back,_ ” Nick says, and he all but tears himself from the kitchen doorway. Sergei’s laughter follows him all the way out the apartment door.

**Author's Note:**

> Sergei's cafe was inspired in part by [this one](https://www.instagram.com/stolleusa/). Look how pretty!


End file.
